


The Sellsword and the Snake

by BeingProtector



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 12:23:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17203346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeingProtector/pseuds/BeingProtector
Summary: Total filth, and I’m not sure it can even fit into the narrative, so you might say this was doubly provocative.





	The Sellsword and the Snake

Dorne was bright with orange groves, the loyal sun, the fragrant markets — but still it held darkness in its dusty alleys, the predominant eye never seeing all. Cooler in the evenight — when trulls became enticing shadows till standing by the indoor taperlight, and shady deals were rendered earsmooth by the mingling breeze that crept in from the nearaway shore — the Water Gardens grew daily-ripe with danger, intrigue, material promise.

But the daylight was no enemy to Bronn, that coyless sellsword, who wasted no time before Jaime — his assurer of a better bride, a higher castle — was due to leave with his rescued daughter. He felt the time physically: the job was done with the reward yet to come, and having had the finger of death upon his heart — from the Sand Snake’s creeping poison — he felt more alive than ever, animated by a curious mix of relief, revenge and ardour.

She came willingly, the two walking side by side, the only things in common their hipside glints and inward cravings. The noon was well established now — the sun at its most rapturous, the shadows dark and defined — and every detail of the stalls and passages conferred life on them, made some nebulous imprint in their desire, so that when they found a suitable spot — the dirty rear of a shop or someone’s home, both hot and cold — it had been pressed and shaped into a standing position.

Blood had coursed through Bronn’s penis from the moment Tyene had unveiled her young, hard breasts, and having taken an unwelcome detour to his stricken heart, it now returned to that former place, filling up the sticky trunk with its rough skin and wiry crown. The young woman felt similar currents in her abdomen, heart, between her legs. There was a kind of music in this place, an endless melody that arose from the clinking pans, calling waresellers, fluttering flags. The city was ancient, solid, yet somehow expanding forever…

In the dim passage where not even idle children strayed, Bronn stopped and faced the wall, the hill behind him crumbling yellow with tufts of drab green, and undid his heavy belt. At once the Snake responded, and buckles shinked, straps slithered loose to the floor, and not a word was spoken as they ’gan the primeval dance. This trot, this trip, this sway, would grow ever faster as they went.

Bronn took out his penis, already stiff with blood, and loosed his juice-plump nuts from their sea-sweaty hammock. Tyene’s face was expressionless with lust: all intent was in her large dark eyes as they took in the rod that was to pummel her. Having shown him her chest, now she pulled up and pushed down to reveal her hazel buttocks, and took her place with uncharacteristic obedience, hands up against the wall, her pelvis arched, sweet gates presented.

As hard as he had been with any whore, Bronn spat into his hand and slathered his penis till it was coated like a branch in bird-froth. With the tackling and mastage of the distant ship underway, not a moment was lost as he aimed at her anus and pushed it in four inches out of seven.

Whether or not she had been expecting this, the girl gave a grunt, half indignant, and tried to scrunch the wall to no avail, the stones hard and flat as Bronn plunged his penis till all but an inch was out, and proceded to press the ungainly mass in and out of her till she gasped and had to close her watering eyes.

This was his revenge. He took his hands from her hips and turned her head around, to see her face, the flashes of anguish across it, lips pursed in erotic concentration. Faster he went, the fingers stole down to hold the breasts he had tasted with his eyes, and the girlish whimpers blent with womanly groans, and the motions became one, the Snake pushing down as he pumped up, and the ancient beast appeared, bucking with its backs, and if only she could juice him from _that_ hole, she thought, but then his early flood was strained, and she felt that flush like subtle lava, the city could be seen now, the world, the galaxy, everything was small and tight, then large like the Dornish desert, arid, fresh, the river swelled to its full height, and birds took off by the thousand, and the sky yawned for air, full and empty, and the sun retreated to the other side of the world, she could see no more, he was blind by his desire, then the precipice loomed, the tunnel folded, daylight appeared again, night passed in a second, and then with a final grunt that told her everything, he came into her anus in an endless flood of hot, boiling reproduction, the furious stuff flying out of his balls and into her stomach at a thousand miles an hour, and the city laughed, the birds returned, the clinks and flaps and shouts were as loud as the tide, and the point was achieved, the mountain conquered, the girl reduced to a quivering frame of young brown limbs beneath his brawn and belt and muscle, sword dangling by his legs with his filthy penis following suit as he withdrew from her hot buttocks and let it tighten in the gloom.

Bronn had his souvenir. Now he could journey home with a clearer mind, and dream of coins and parapets.


End file.
